Rebellion of the Horses
by cheese-is-my-life
Summary: Honestly, you think Ezio would have learned NOT TO MESS WITH THE APPLE. But, no... after this incident causes the horses of the Order to rebel against their masters, how will the Brotherhood cope? What chaos will arise? Expect OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Omnomnom. This is my first fanfic, and - no, wait, don't go! *drags back* I've written a few before, but this is the first that I've put on teh interwebz. But it probably wasn't a good idea to write one at 10pm. Yeah. This is supposed to be humourous, but it's more just plain silliness, and yes, despite this, if I get any reviews I will continue it. Because I actually thought of a plot for something as stupid as a horses' rebellion caused by messing with the Apple. I know. Stupid, but you might like it! :D! So try it, yus?**

* * *

Niccolo Machiavelli was a busy man - a busy man with things to do, people to see - and, a book to write. _Il Princpe_ was finished now, though, and one of his many busy activities was to visit the brothel which Ezio's feisty sister, Claudia, ran - just to, ahem, check on business. Not for personal needs, or anything.

The philosopher leant over his masterpiece, sharp, bird-like eyes scanning every corner of the page before he let it rest in peace, meticulously and carefully crossing every "t" in the same elegant manner, and dotting every "i" with the same sized dot. It wasn't like he had OCD, or anything, about crosses and dots - it wasn't like he went around intercepting couriers to do this to everyones' personal letters (well, actually, he did have OCD... but not about that, just about keeping buttons as shiny as mirrors and having every hair on his head the _exact same length. _He had to look tidy for his job,

didn't he? For... some reason?) No, he actually was doing this for the sake of wasting time - because recently, his _maldito cavallo_, Vieri, had been acting funny. By acting _funny_, it's meant that he wouldn't allow a _maldito _rider to get up on his back (which Niccolo also kept as shiny as mirrors) - not that he would nudge peoples' asses with his head, he did that anyway.

For you see, Niccolo Machiavelli was also a lazy man. He was hoping that, despite the intelligence that we all know he has, if Vieri was left for a while, things would settle down and he would, though grudgingly as always, allow a rider. He wouldn't _walk _all the way to the brothel. Dio. (or perhaps his "laziness" is a cover-up for him not wanting the dust from the streets ruining his lovely, shineh buttons).

But he had to start his journey now, because Claudia was expecting him soon - so he had to brave the pervy horse. He stood up, brushing down his clothes, and glanced in the mirror, checking over his hair. Niccolo strolled outside of his secret headquarters (which, by the way, is situated in the banking district of Rome - that pretty, shiny mahogany door near Juan Borgia's bank). When he reached the nearby stables, Vieri was waiting politely, looking at the philosopher with respect in his large eyes (HA! he thought triumphantly). So, naturally, Niccolo, nasty grin settled on his face, muttering "I own you, beast" on the way, walked proudly to his steed, and mounted without any problems.

Apart from the fact that Vieri started a slow walk - with no encouragement from our dear Machivelli - down the cobbled street, in the opposite direction to the brothel.

"...Vieri?" Hesitantly, he poked the horse in the neck. No effect. "Vieri?" A tap on his nose. Nothing. _Ok. That's it. _"VIERI!" _A good, hard slap on the side, that should do it, you stupid, evil, motherfu-_

"NO, VIERI NO,!" Said horse was galloping like his pointless horsey life would be over in an hour down the street, knocking over civilians like dominoes in his wild path. Machiavelli wasn't a man who screamed. Never. _Never_. He liked calm. He liked how it made him seem authoritative and collected. But not now. He was screaming and shrieking like a little girl who'd had her favourite plushie stolen, kicking and slapping in a fit to the animal, yet to no avail. And what was that gap ahead? Oh, no.

Oh, _no_.

_OH, NO!_

The Tiber, and Vieri was headed straight for it, whinnying happily on his way. Bastard.

"I'LL GET YOU BACK FOR THIS! I'LL KICK YOU AND WHIP YOU SO HARD YOUR MOTHER'S GOING TO FEEL IT IN HER GRAVE! I'LL DELIVER YOU TO THE TEMPLARS AND LET YOU BE SUBJECTED TO THEIR FAT, GREASY ASSES ON YOUR BACK, AND-"

And at that point, Vieri skidded to a halt, hooves squeaking on the ground, and the master swordsman that was Niccolo forgot his rant and sailed uselessly over his horse's lowered head, whimpering in mid-air, and landed with a splash in the dirty, piss-filled waters of the Tiber.

* * *

"What's wrong with her?" Leonardo's blue gaze slid to the right, to where Ezio stood with big, puppy-dog eyes and a pout on his chiselled face. Currently, he was holding his the head of his mare, Italia, in his hands while - like the proper little scientist he was - he examined her. (Italia: because he had pride.

No, I don't mean _that _sort of pride. Although he had that too...)

"Fix her? Please?" Leonardo emitted a sigh, and he turned to face his best friend with a hand on his hip. He had utterly no idea why his horse was rejecting the assassin. After all - he'd lent Italia to Ezio before, and he'd ridden on her to his workshop so they could study the Apple. There didn't seem to be an explanation - and this, the artist was irritated at, because Leonardo _always_ had to have an explanation. For _everything_.

"Pretty please? With sugar on top?" Ezio pursued, staring at his friend pleadingly (although in the busy street where the mare was tethered, it made civilians give him a creeped out stare. Because, you know... Big, bad, scary, hooded assassin, begging like a little kid).

"It's not that simple, Ezio." Leonardo sighed again, and ran a hand through the dark gold hair he spent so long on keeping soft and tidy. "The only explanation_ I _can think of is that she was fed up of your great big ass rubbing against her back."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny."

_That's what you get for stealing my red hat, thief! _The artist snickered internally, and turned wordlessly to watch the dull people of Roma. But, for once they were doing something other than walking, eating apples, or carrying random (and suspicious) unmarked crates that would explode whenever you walked into one. They were all facing the same direction; walking back hastily; pale faced and gasping; hands covering their mouths. And, strangely, holding their noses in disgust.

With a questioning glance towards Ezio - who was equally bemused - the artist walked quickly to the gathering of civilians, and waded through, shoving them aside thoughtlessly as he went to catch a glimpse. And, hell, when he did see it, he stopped in his tracks, gasped, and started moving hastily backwards too.

It was a monster, and he couldn't take his bright blue gaze off it. Tall, wet and dripping, filthy hood obscuring whatever sort of face could be there. When it moved, it staggered like a drunk toddler, and it left a slimy brown trail after it... and then, when it turned to Leonardo, it called his name in a thick voice.

"Leonarrrrdo..." And it started moving faster, staggering fast and clumsily, towards him. For a moment the engineer just stood, frozen, confused, creeped out (and, as always, fascinated by what could be a new test subject). But then, whatever senses he had buried deep down inside him kicked in and he spun round and ran for his life, utterly terrified, knocking down random people in his path. And when the fat, lumpy, skinny, normal bodies of people were removed from his line of sight, _he could actually see_, and then he starting yelling incomprehensibly as he ran towards his assassin friend.

He grabbed the white robes and yelled up to his friend's startled face. "EZIO HELP IT'S GOING TO KILL ME OR RAPE ME KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT OR JUST ARROW STORM IT PLEEEASE HELP ME HELP ME-"

During his panic attack, Leonardo hadn't noticed Ezio was shaking him... shaking him harder and harder. But he did notice when Ezio slapped him hard across the face, and he brought a hand to the new red mark on his cheek, a shocked expression on his face, monster momentarily forgotten.

"Get a hold on yourself, man, before I bitch-slap you again, and embarrass myself even more!" Ezio sighed, closed his eyes, and turned the disorientated Leonardo around to face "the monster". "It's just Machiavelli, and although the sight of him is quite scary, you should be used to it by now."

Indeed it was. Just a very flithy, dirty, stinky, wet Machiavelli - now with his hood down. (why couldn't he have done that before? Oh, yeah, he got a sick kick out of scaring the normal people of Roma shitless).

"Sorry," he grunted to a now exhausted Ezio and a slightly pink Leonardo. "It's my damn horse, Vieri... you'll never guess what it's done."

At the words "damned horse" the assassin and artist exchanged a weird deja-vu kind of look. But, they turned back to Machiavelli, and politely listened to his long, long story.

**Maldito cavallo: Damned horse (at least, I hope it means that).**

**Yay. So, if you did like it, for whatever reason, review... otherwise I'm unlikely to carry this on. It will eventually make more sense (I promise!) and a plot will come together (IF I GETZ A REVIEW!) So this is more of an introduction to the idea of horses rebelling against the assassins... I'll stop rambling now.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you to my reviewer. You're epic... so, you getz a cookie! *feeds cookie* I hope you like vanilla flavour. They're the only ones left in the tin... :( no chocolate biscuits, damnit. OH AND I FORGOT THE DISCLAIMER: I don't own Assassin's Creed, sadly. If I did, something dumb like this would feature as a mission xD**

* * *

"_My_ horse tried to buck me off into its shit pile!"

"Pah! That's nothing! Mine stole my money pouch and dropped it next to a _Templar_!"

"... well. Mine grabbed my skirt and lifted it up in the middle of the market."

Bartelomeo, Pantasilea and Claudia had recently been arguing passionately about which of them had the worse treatment from their horses. And, judging by the shocked silence that filled the room in the Tiber hideout after Claudia's claim, it was consequently her right to murder Ezio.

Meanwhile, the master assassin was slowly backing away, helpless under her furious stare, and fumbling at his belt for his smoke bomb pouch. That way, he could escape from the urgent meeting he called himself. Sending a pigeon to all his allies and assassins scattered around Rome hadn't turned about to be a very good idea, seeing as each and every one had decided that, naturally, this unexplainable problem had to be _all his fault..._

But then a hand grabbed his wrist as he was about to take the bomb and throw it in his sister's face. "Ezio! That's not a good idea. We need to solve this and-" Ever the voice of sense, Leonardo stopped, and stared wide-eyed at Claudia, who had suddenly grabbed a dagger (which Ezio noticed had been recently sharpened) that was mounted on the wall and held it in front of her face with a wide, nasty grin.

Ezio was so surprised he just stood still - he could only wonder how his sweet, innocent little sister could manage such a malicious expression.

"Ezio. Because of _your _senseless meddling with the Apple -" insert shifty-eyed Leonardo here, 'cause he totally didn't help with that - "our main and fastest line of necessary transport has been cut off. Now a lot of important missions have been halted." That creepy grin widened. "So, to just... equal things out, as it were, guess what _I'm_ going to cut off?"

"...Oh."

* * *

Machiavelli didn't believe in "awkward silences", because while everyone else sat there twiddling their thumbs, he liked to use the space to think and be all... philosophery. However, now the large clock in the room seemed to be ticking especially loudly; nobody was talking; everyone was glancing nervously at Claudia from time to time to check she wasn't exploding in another fit of rage; and they all were thinking the same, useless thought. Everyone in the room was pondering (note the difference to worrying) about just exactly what had happened to Ezio after he'd panicked and ran out of the hideout like Jack Sparrow and hadn't yet returned. Yep, this silence was definitely slightly awkward.

Eventually, however, Machiavelli couldn't take that damn clock ticking anymore (because, his eyes wandered down to his lap, and his hands were venturing towards the hilt of his sword - he was going to smash it apart any minute). He cleared his throat, stood up, and stared around at everyone - Claudia, Bartelomeo, Pantasilea, La Volpe, Maria (how beautiful she looks today...) and Leonardo (as well as some random novices stood in corners with expressions that didn't really know what was going on).

"I think it's about time we sent out a search party for Ezio, and apologised too." No-one said a thing. No wonder, seeing as he just ran like a pansy and left them to sort out the mess when they didn't even have the Apple with them. He directed his glance towards Claudia. Nope. No fit of rage, she was just glaring at him passively. "Running seems cowardly, but Ezio is clearly... uh, very chivalrous in this situation, because he wouldn't hit a girl. Not even his own sister."

Machiavelli was vaguely aware of reluctant grunts and nods around him, but something was making him feel the need to scratch his (very tidy) scalp and making his palms burn a little - Claudia's glare reminded him a little of his mother's after he once stole a piece of bread from a market when he was a midget version of himself. The glare was cold and evil and lasted for a while until she erupted, and yells about her disappointment and what-his-father-would-do-to-him-when-he-got-home came flying his way until he was left crying for his teddy bear. Ah, that old, scruffy, one-eyed teddy bear. Alberto was his name. For a moment, Machiavelli was off reminiscing, misty-eyed, about those sweet, childhood nights curled up with little Alberto...

"FOR ALL I CARE, _MESSERE,_ MY BASTARD BROTHER CAN BE KIDNAPPED BY CESARE BORGIA, HUNG UP ON A CROSS AND BE MOLESTED BY HIM AND HIS GUARDS!"... That was an explosion that certainly regained the philosopher's attention.

Claudia's face was flushed with anger... but there was a growing pinkness to it as she saw the shocked faces around her. "... what?"

"... m..m-molested? By Cesare Borgia?" Pantasilea said weakly, eyes wide and glassy with horror at the (disgusting) image being projected in her mind.

It seemed like Claudia had clearly terrified everyone in the room. Machiavelli nudged Leonardo, sat next to him on the couch, and whispered: "What is it with her? I know she's always been... _unpredictable_, but there's got to be some other reason why she's so angry...?"

Leonardo grinned slyly across at him. "La Volpe told Ezio - who told me - that he'd been present at a bit of a... wild night at the brothel. The responsible businesswoman that Claudia is got stupidly drunk like the rest of them and well, one thing led to another..." he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "So, Ezio now knows his sister's dirty little secret. How angry that makes her."

Machiavelli was, firstly, surprised that La Volpe told Ezio, because if the assassin was like any other brother he would kill the thief. Then again, Ezio wasn't like any other brother, 'cause he was... special. Secondly, he found the mental image of the unlikely pair hilarious, and despite how unlike it was in his nature, began uttering half-stifled sniggers with Leonardo there and then.

"...What? Surely you're mad at him too?" Claudia questioned at them, bemused. "What I said wasn't intended as a joke. At all. In fact, I was being totally serious, and..." suddenly, a rose blush erupted on her face. "Oh. Oh, no. You didn't." Her head was flipping between both Leonardo and Machiavelli now like a puppet (and, in the background, La Volpe's infamous violet eyes were widening too and a blush was also forming on his cheeks, and was staring desperately at the door every few seconds). Assassins and allies were beginning to whisper and titter like teenage girls to each other now, observing the embarrassment of Claudia and La Volpe with a kind of sick delight as some secret between them became obvious, while the woman in the middle turned round slowly with an oh-my-god-am-I-in-a-nightmare-or-is-this-real sort of look on her face.

"So, Claudia, when were you thinking about telling me this?" Maria, who could be easily forgotten sat in the corner of the room, asked her daughter loudly with a probing look on her face.

Bartelomeo could be easily heard trying to control his fit of giggles. The brown-haired young woman gave a sort of defeated groan, and facepalmed.

Whatever predicament Ezio might be in at this moment was now completely forgotten. What very mature assassins we have here.

* * *

Ezio was a strong man. He could fast-swim long stretches of river for as long as you wanted him to (or as long as you pressed RT+A with the joystick pressed forwards for), and wrench an axe out of a random guard's body after accurately throwing it for a long distance. But for whatever reason, no matter how much he tugged and pulled, that _damned horse_ would not let go of the back of his robes and was dragging him up some stony trail somewhere leading somewhere (he couldn't see much, because if he lifted his head it would connect with the wet, slobbery teeth of the stallion which were clenching his clean white robes - and that would ruin his long, well-maintained _**pony**_tail. heh) Not only that, but he was going to get long, red _carpet (or more like stone) burns_ on his legs! How disgusting! No lady with any self respect would want to share a bed with him after this!

How did this happen, you may wonder? As a natural reflex, after running from the huge mess-up that was at the time in his hideout, he legged it for the stables - and realising his stupidity, facepalmed mentally and turned to climb some random wall infront of all those civilians. But before he made in anywhere, he heard an angry whinny behind him, and with dread felt a stinky wash of breath flood his nostrils, and a solid pair of jaws grab the cloth near his neck - and before he knew it, he was being dragged along the cobblestones and out of Rome onto the dusty, horribly stony trails alongside some great big black horse.

What annoyed him is the fact that nobody even attempted to come to his rescue - in fact, Ezio felt sure he heard a few cackles on the way. _Well_, his ego said to him,_ you've never once been beaten before, so seeing the fact that you could be must have shocked them into laughter. _But of course, he knew it was the fact that he looked downright ridiculous.

"You're so ugly, you know that?" he weakly told the large, galloping stallion over the noise of pounding hooves. In response, he got a "humph" and it swerved, so he was being dragged along particular sharp stones at the side of the trail. Sighing, he closed his eyes, and ignored the pain on his legs which he was getting used to. He may as well sleep, seeing as he was helpless to do anything else - Ezio Auditore, master assassin, had been kidnapped by a horse and could not even try to escape.

**AN: If you've seen Pirates of the Caribbean, you should know what I mean by "running like Jack Sparrow". He runs like a total pansy XD. I hope that made sense. It wasn't as long as the last chapter, I think, but I wasn't going to ramble just to enlarge it... so, REVIEW? :D?**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks for the reviews, guys! 3 They're the only things that enable me to actually get my fat ass of the floor in front of the TV and onto the computer, to actually write another chapter (and congratulations for earning yourself a good profile stalk, though "anon" doesn't have a profile, unlike DuskyNights and Arayonna, so I couldn't :[). Although despite this, it's a bit of a belated chapter anyway - but this time I have an excuse. Exams. Revision. = Bleh. And free hugs if you get the random and pointless ASDF movie 4 reference. Normally it's cookies, but I'm in a cuddly mood! =^-^=**

* * *

Ezio decided he didn't like clouds anymore. You know how lots of people like to stare up at pretty skies and notice how they look like lovely images such as rabbits/frogs/headless chickens? It wasn't like that with the current predicament Ezio was in, at wherever-the-hell-he-was. The evil buggers were parting to let the sun's burning rays of light pierce through his eyelids, causing him to _wake up_... and feel the stinging pain that had on his legs. He would happily bet that those nasty clouds were cackling at him right now through their fluffy white mouths.

A groan emitted from him, and he curled up in a fetal position, wishing he had something with him to numb the pain. But luck was on his side - a random kick from a random something up the backside caused waves of numbness to cascade down his legs, and for a moment he grinned to himself and curled up tighter - hoping to sleep and somehow wake up back at home in his nice cosy bed with his favourite tedd- his favourite... lampshade.

But after a few seconds an even stronger agony kicked in, and the assassin made a sound which was a mix between a grunt and a wail (which makes the subject appear quite mentally deranged, if you've never heard that before). A more fierce kick somehow gave him the willpower to get up and stare his captors in the eye - not in a threatening way, as he usually did, but in a helpless, surrendered way. To a few _dumb animals _with nasty glints in their large brown eyes.

Three large, muscular horses - the large dark one that had dragged him like a ragdoll out of Rome, and a grey on one flank with a reddish one on the other... all staring creepily at him and smiling like the Cheshire Cat (or Cheshire Horse, if you're pedantic).

Desperately, the assassin looked at his wrists. No hidden blades, although he had them earlier (but 'cause he's actually a big softie under the swelling ego and heavy armour, he didn't want use them on animals). So the creepy, anti-assassin horses had either eaten them or given them to Templars. Great.

He shifted to look past the horses for a moment, and to his outrage found that not only he was in a random village he didn't at all recognise, but a group of civilians had gathered around, laughing and pointing at him. Poor, helpless Ezio. Trying to ignore the horses (which were, worryingly, beginning to

use their heads to probe at his chest and moving _downwards_, he called out weakly: "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to point?"

However, before he could receive an answer, those big strong horses were walking slowly forwards, surrounding him and moving him with them - and Ezio had no choice but to back up slowly like a skinny kid being cornered by bullies in the playground. "_Scusatemi_, i-if you wouldn't mind... stop that?" the grown man stuttered up at their faces, a little lost at what to do. No response (but he could swear he saw those demonic smiles widen). "_P-Per favore?" _

...

He gulped, still hastily treading backwards, hammering of his heart causing the taunts and laughter of the various citizens to tune out into a background hum - and then took a deep breath. _Time to resort to begging_, he thought with despair. "PLEASE! I'LL GIVE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT, JUST _STOP_ ALREA-"

And that was when he fell back into the troth, with a final shove with a hoof on his chest to push him back.

He just lay there, ignoring the triumphant horsey snorts and feeling the slimy water seep into his perfect, snowy white robes, hoping they thought he'd died. It didn't exactly make the most beautiful coffin, but at least then they'd stop the torture.

* * *

Along with a lot of laughter, the remaining assassins in the hideout had worked out about what had happened to the competent and accomplished master assassin. Kidnapped. By a horse. The very idea almost made Machiavelli die of laughter yet _again_, but he knew there were more important things to take care of.

"So, you know your mission. Ask Roma's citizens if they were witnesses of _Il Mentore _being dragged out of the city - bribe them or-" he smiled at some vague memory of when he was a young assassin - "dance for them if you have to. Then try and follow his trail, if there is one, to... wherever the hell he is. Got it?" Machiavelli instructed the group of novices as they stood in front of the hideout. Meekly, they nodded, and scuttled off, so he turned neatly on his heel to assess what his allies were up to.

Leonardo stood before him, dreamily stroking the mane of a large, pearly-coloured horse, misty blue eyes wandering over and taking in its entire body. (... that sounded a little wrong, didn't it?)

He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. While he was trying to bring them all together to find Ezio, and then return with him to the workshop to get the Apple back because Ezio seemed to be the only one with any effect on it ('cause he was special) Leonardo was perving over a - A HORSE?

"Leonardo! What _on earth_! Those things hate us, what are you doing?" Machiavelli babbled, grabbing the artist roughly by an arm and dragging him away.

The inventor just looked up at him, all innocent and surprised. "But, Niccolo! It's sweet, it never tried to hurt me!" Machiavelli's grasp relaxed, and he turned to look back at the stallion. It's silvery eyes were bright and shining, and it tossed its mane, whinnying gently...

It was a beautiful horse... but he shook himself, and stared hard back into the eyes of the artist. "Leonardo, you just like it because it looks like a unicorn."

A wash of red overcame his face. "... What? How does it look like a unicorn? It doesn't even have a _horn_!"

Machiavelli rolled his eyes. "Well, yes, apart from that, obviously. But the colour, its eyes, its sleekness, everything else..." With the evil satisfaction that the philosopher seems to get sometimes, he smirked as he saw Leonardo struggle with words. "You're not denying it, then?"

"... stop making fun of my love for unicorns." Machiavelli just cackled at Leonardo's best attempt at a death glare (which was as harmless as throwing cheese at an invading UFO). As the horse shifted and turned around, tail flipping into Leonardo's face in the process, Machiavelli gladly let it leave - no way would he trust anything anymore with a mane, a tail and four legs anymore. But then in stopped, tossing its head to glance back at them, neighing loudly.

"Niccolo! I think it wants us to _follow _it!" Leonardo exclaimed, clasping his hands and practically skipping after it.

The man in question facepalmed, and growled out: "Yes, follow it. Probably to a nest of Templars - hell, probably showering Templars if this animal is as evil as the others."

Leonardo ignored him, and trotted alongside the beast. "Where are you taking us?" The animal grunted, turned around again, walked back to Machiavelli (who's expression was definitely _not_ amused) and prodded a below and around his belt.

The philosopher yelped and leapt backwards, eyes wide and horror present on his face. "_SEE, LEONARDO?_" he shouted, enraged, at the engineer. "You can tell this thing is Templar! Perverted by nature! Did you see where it just put its hoof?" Despite being fully clothed, he covered his more... sensitive... areas with his hands, like a girl in the shower who'd been walked in on.

Leonardo just grinned widely, which looked kind of creepy to Machiavelli, until he spoke. "_Idiota_, you have the assassins' emblem on your belt. He must mean Ezio... don't you?" The artist looked up into the animal's eyes, dreamy smile lounged across his face as he used a long-fingered hand to cup the horse's head.

Machiavelli sighed impatiently, about to turn and collect another search party. But then the horse snorted loudly and nodded its head madly, eyes wide and mane flying all over the place.

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Leonardo grinned again, childlike glee lighting up his face. "I told you so!" He patted the pearly-coloured horse on the neck. "This horse, it's a _special_ horse. You can tell that by what it _looks _like! It's no traitor to us!"

With that, the horse turned; walking swiftly towards the bridge that led out of the small, Roman island; and the artist gladly bounced along behind it.

"Leonardo. Come back." Machiavelli ordered. He didn't have a good feeling about this.

The inventor ignored him. "Leonardo!" he barked sharply.

...

He was about to call again, but stopped himself, and sighed. What was the worst that could happen? He had weapons, after all. If anything bad came out of this little adventure, he could manage.

He looked behind him, where the other assassins seemed to have forgotten the mess they were in. Claudia and La Volpe stood apart, red and blushing, while the others giggled and asked them questions. Very awkward questions. It seemed like that one night would never leave them. Machiavelli couldn't resist eavesdropping.

"How big was it, Claudia?" Pantasilea asked innocently.

"Were the other courtesans there when it happened? Did they laugh, or cry?" Bartelomeo grinned maliciously at La Volpe.

A sort of strange spasm went through the Auditore sister's upper body, and her head snapped up from where it stared at the ground to glare at everyone else. "Enough!" she snarled, turning around to stalk to Machiavelli, La Volpe behind her (and Machiavelli couldn't help but overhear something she muttered to herself. "_It was miniscule.")._

"Everybody stop acting like _cretini_. We have something that might lead us somewhere. Follow me." Machiavelli yelled at the group, turning around and running after the horse and his new stal- Leonardo.

At the chorus of thudding feet echoing behind him, he knew his request had, for once, been acknowledged (though he was surprised that they didn't bother to question the fact they were running after a horse, of all things. Actually, he had to wonder whether they really cared, or had forgotten about the point of this fanfiction because of a much more interesting entertainment/couple).

Civilians gawped at them as a group of assassins, who dedicated their lives to being discreet, trailed loudly after the horse going across the bridge. They gawped even more as Leonardo at the front turned to face Machiavelli, his face pleading, begging: "Can I ride it? _Please?_" and after his exasperated nod the painter climbed eagerly onto the mount and threw his arms around its neck.

* * *

"'He looked like a dead pigeon being dragged along the ground like someone's cat.'" Alfonso, the shortest and most hyperactive out of the four novices Machiavelli had sent out seriously quoted a civilian they'd bothered for information, and then spluttered with laughter.

The trails from the horse's hooves had been easy enough to find, but, well, they couldn't resist finding out exactly what their _very skilled_ and _absolutely unbeatable_ mentor had looked like while being kidnapped by an animal.

Ricardo, the tall and gangly apprentice next to Alfonso, grinned along with him. "Apparently he just went limp. He gave up. Something he taught us to _never, ever_ do." His dark eyes flashed nefariously at the idea of telling the assassin how he went against his own words.

Emilio, the blond, blue-eyed assassin, stared at them haughtily. "I wish _you'd_ get dragged along the ground like a dead pigeon. Honestly, I can't believe you find it so funny. Quoting a bunch of peasants over and over again is giving me a headache!" he told them dramatically in a high-pitched voice.

Before Ricardo and Alfonso could respond by reminding Emilio how he didn't even look Italian anyway and start _that_ argument all over again, Annetta - the only female assassin in the group - elbowed the idiot nearest her, who happened to be Alfonso, and pointed down the dusty trail they'd been trudging along for the past couple of hours. "Do you see that?" she asked, excitement tingeing her usually reserved voice.

Ricardo peered down it. "Dust? Rocks?"

"No, _idiota_! A _village_!" the dark-haired _assassina _replied, eyes sparkling. "Probably with _stables_! That is where Ezio might have been taken!" Happy to see something other than the dull grey and brown that had filled her vision for the past hour, she ran towards the cluster of buildings on the horizon, swinging her arms.

Like three little ducklings, the immature _assassini_ behind her that usually spent their time fighting for her attention chased after her. Five minutes later, they entered the village, gasping for air and ignoring the random people staring at them.

They paused for a moment, glancing at each other. Not an Ezio in sight. Yet, the horse's tracks definitely led here.

Emilio broke the silence with and eye-roll and a sarcastic remark, as usual. "Hey, I really enjoy just standing here like a _limone_ too, but if we linger any longer, I have this feeling that our _mentore_ might get raped by a horse with a hood fetish." So, after Alfonso, Ricardo and Annetta shivered simultaneously in revulsion, they all wandered aimlessly forwards.

Until they heard the begging and the panting.

Alfonso gulped, and turned to Emilio, eyes wide. "You... you _were_ joking about the being-raped-by-a-horse thing... right?"

Annetta scowled at them. "_Stolti._ I'm sure that's not it." She continued to walk briskly through the main dust road of the village, and turned right round a square building. There, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. It looked like she was about to scream. But then, instead, a raucous cackle erupted from her chest.

The other three ran to her, startled, and stared at what she was giggling at, and began to laugh themselves. Master Assassin Ezio Auditore (who was for some reason quite wet) was throwing himself, exhausted, out of the reach of horses' hooves as they swung towards his head, pleading them to stop at every blow. They just snorted and continued. The attempts were slow, so he had time to move - so, clearly they didn't want to hurt him. They just wanted to see him _dance_.

But the novices' entertainment was soon, sadly, stopped, as Ezio's tired golden eyes caught sight of them and lit up with hope. Given some sort of new energy, he stopped dodging and ran at them, launching himself at Ricardo and burying his hooded head into his shoulder. "Please. Kill them. They... they won't stop..." he whispered to them, voice hoarse. "Don't make me look at them again."

Suppressing another laugh at Ezio's dread of _the deadly horse_, Ricardo gently moved him like an overtired toddler to a crate to sit on. Alfonso drew his sword - the only one _not_ against animal cruelty, and brandished it not-so-gracefully at the beasts. They didn't expect this, and blinking in shock, backed up rapidly into the group of watching citizens (knocking a couple over in the process).

He sighed, and turned back to Ezio, kneeling down to be at his height. "What happened?"

Ezio swallowed, and looked around at them, too tired to be embarrassed. "I woke up here. They pushed me in a troth. I pretended to be dead. They pulled me out. This happened. It has been happening for the last hour or two."

They would have replied (probably with laughter) but randomly the heavens opened up, and rain began to pour heavily down on them. Ezio glowered up at the sky. Those clouds didn't like him, either.

Over the almost deafening noise, he shouted at them: "You do know how to get back to Roma, right?"

Nobody heard Ricardo say "ah, _merda..." _but they did hear Annetta shout back, after a pause: "We did, but there are a lot of dust roads, and it was only the trail that led us here and we were going to use it to get back, and..." she trailed of into the noise.

And, the trails would be erased by the rain. Yay... They were lost.

* * *

Finally, the pale horse - Leonardo on top of its bare back - stopped, and the tired assassins trailing behind it finally had a chance to rest their feet (but a lot crashed into each other, actually, since many had long since stopped paying attention to where they were going).

Machiavelli observed the large door in front of them. It belonged to what looked like a barn, which seemed like the kind of place Ezio might be brought to. But, after a hesitant shove, it didn't open. It was locked.

Leonardo jumped down from the unicorn-like-horse thing, patting its neck affectionately in the process. He knocked tentatively at the door. "Hello?" he asked cautiously.

The harsh response nearly made them jump out of their skin. "Password?" A loud voice - right on the other side of the door - barked just after Leonardo spoke.

"Er..." Machiavelli looked behind him, uncertain. Sadly, everybody else looked just as stumped and unprepared as he was. Slowly, he turned back to the door.

"Uh... Cabbage?" What an idiot. Of all things to say, that would be the first thing to come to mind...

And to the surprise of all of them, the door swung open.

**Scusatemi: Excuse me**

**Per favore: Please**

**Idiota: You'd have to be one not to understand that.**

**Cretini: Cretins**

**Assassina/assassini: Female assassin/assassins**

**Limone: Lemon**

**Stolti: Fools**

**Merda: Shit**

**Another AN: That was... long. Five pages? **_**A lazy person like me wrote FIVE PAGES!**_** Ok, 3000 words is probably nothing to some. But for me, it's a lot. And I wanted to write more, too, but I'll save it for the next chapter. So... what is behind the special door? :O *dundundun* Another even more important question... Does this make sense? Meh. Anyway, if ya like, **_**review**_**, or I will find you. And give you death. By cuddles. 3**

***was too lazy to read through so point out any mistakes***


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